


Shiny And Dark

by tielan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Domme/sub, F/M, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-05 10:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't kiss and tell; that's how he got this assignment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shiny And Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toucanpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toucanpie/gifts).



The bass thundered in Steve’s ears, pounding through his flesh and bone, the unceasing heartbeat of the club as the music and the singing-screaming crowds were the lifeblood of it. Louder than he liked it, and less tuneful, but he wasn’t here for the music.

He hadn’t asked where S.H.I.E.L.D had procured the outfit. The mask was a variant of his uniform, only black matte and without decoration, and while the leather felt different against his skin, the fit of his pants was exactly the same.

Well, maybe a _little_ more snug.

But his fingers itched to pull at the collar.

The soft, braided leather was nothing like the stiff rawhide of the ones he’d worn in New York, but the memories threatened all the same.

 _You accepted the collar,_ he reminded himself as they climbed the metal stairs to one side of the dance floor. _She even checked it with you. And this isn’t anything like last time._

This time Steve had a domme holding the end of the leash, her fingers firm on the cord as she led them along the crowded catwalk, her bootsteps planted like she was grinding wrists beneath each heel. It was exactly the same walk that Steve had seen across the atrium of the Triskelion, through the halls of the Directorate levels. And although he couldn’t see her face in the darkness and the strobing lights, he could imagine it exactly: proud and cold, with barely a hint of softness – but enough to make men wonder if her smile was glorious when she was pleased.

Not that it was just men turning to look at her in here.

She paused to allow a trio to leave the railing and stepped neatly into the space, tugging Steve along with her. The vacating domme gave a nod of acknowledgement as they passed, dark eyes skimming over Steve in summary and dismissing him. He could almost see her thinking, _not obedient enough._ And, indeed, the male sub trailed her like a good puppy, never looking around, but the female sub lifted delicate lashes long enough to stare longingly at Commander Hill before her leash reached its limit and she was pulled along.

Steve settled on the rail beside Hill, his hands resting on the cool metal. This was a ‘grit and steel’ club as they called it these days – set up in an old warehouse, loud and proud. And nothing like the kinds of clubs that those without money frequented – Steve had even gone to one, just to see how things had changed. Not much, as it turned out.

He saw the movement in the corner of his eye – the wrap of her hand around the leash, and so was expecting the tug on the collar that pulled his head down so his ear was on a level with Hill’s scarlet-lipped mouth.

“Target is at two o’clock, in the velvet rope cage.”

Her voice was pitched low and husky, and it slid down his spine as delicately as the fingertips on his waist, stroking his skin in light possession. Steve made himself focus on the big, burly man gripping the ropes of the ‘cage’, fucking the mouth of the kneeling and blindfolded man with an unconcern that made Steve’s fists itch.

“Consent?”

Hill looked up at him with a cool expression. “Theoretically, yes. However, to guys like him, money _is_ consent.” The fingers at his waist scratched as he tensed. “We’re taking him down.”

“And we need him able to talk.”

“Well,” her mouth stretched in a sweetly vicious curve, “to mumble, at least. Still green?”

“Still green,” he confirmed.

“Then we’ll keep moving.” Her hand slid around to his belly and splayed, teasingly, but didn’t move lower. “We need to show off the merchandise, after all.”

Steve let himself lean into the caress, reminding himself it was okay to react. Yes, it was more exhibitionist than he was comfortable with, but it was also a mission.

When Fury had come to him with Hill and the proposal, Steve had been disbelieving. _Surely you have agents capable of taking him?_

 _Not without revealing our hand,_ had been Fury’s reply.

Hill had been rather more blunt about her requirements. _I need someone who’s his type, big enough to take him down, and who won’t shoot shit with the guys afterwards._

_I’ve been assigned this mission because I’m not a gossip?_

She shrugged. _Sometimes a little virtue can go a long way._

Then again, considering the Strike teams’ overall attitude towards Hill, Steve could see why she’d be wary of asking any of them to play her sub. He did what he could to shut things down when they got rowdy, but ‘Hardass Hill’ was a by-word among the guys, and in the sleek navy blue halterneck and side-laced leggings, she certainly looked like the kind of domme who’d take a crop to a sub’s face for a minor infraction.

Then again, some subs liked that.

A tug on the leash brought his attention back. “Ready to mingle?”

A nod was his answer.

They continued on what Steve soon realised was a circulation of the club, skirting the dance floor and its writhing mass of bodies, past the gauze-curtained rooms where voices rose and fell in rhythms of pleasure and pain, and through the lounges where club guests sprawled, knelt, or splayed in various states and stages of arousal, abandon, and caregiving.

Steve noticed the caregivers; the doms and dommes looking after their partners. There weren’t nearly enough given the numbers in the club – then again, there never were.

 _Hands on his shoulders, firm but not brutal, and Bucky’s eyes looking into his, dark and anxious. “Hey, buddy, you with me?_ ”

He met the sharp blue gaze of a domme sprawled on top of her sub on one of the chaises – the man’s chest rose and fell in heaving pants, but her palm pressed against his shoulder, and his hand curved over her waist, fingers resting in the hollow of her spine. Something about them drew Steve’s eye: an island of comfort and familiarity – _intimacy –_ in the midst of a thousand casual experiences. As Steve watched, she smiled at him – although it was less a smile and more a baring of teeth.

The jerk on his leash was unexpected and unwelcome, and he resisted before he remembered his role and gave way.

Hill shoved him into an alcove – thankfully empty – and backed him up against the wall, her hips slender and lithe against the cradle of his, her grip on the leash unforgiving as she hauled him down to look her in the eye as though he was the merest cadet. “Still on point, soldier?”

A little angry, and more than a little startled, Steve fought the sudden urge to nip at the scarlet mouth less than an inch from his. The yen was sharp and a little bit shocking. Yes, he’d noticed Hill as an attractive woman – but in much the same way that he’d noticed Romanoff: a beautiful dame going places and God help any man who stood in her way.

It seemed ‘much the same’ did not equate to ‘exactly the same’.

Distracted and dismayed, it took him a moment to realise Hill was still waiting for an answer from him, her expression expectant and demanding. And a perverse imp prodded him hard.

Steve shifted his hips against hers, a subtle rub of his growing arousal against her as he held her gaze. “Absolutely, commander.”

Her eyes widened, her body tensing against his before she lifted her chin in a swift and sharp condemnation. “You can come back on your own time.” Her brusqueness was almost contemptuous. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding someone to look after you.”

His hand came up to the leash, covered and curled into hers. “Actually,” he told her, “I prefer to be the one doing the looking after.”

Her breath caught – shock? Or anticipation?

Light gleamed off the wet curve of her lip and it took all the discipline Steve had in him not to lunge for that pretty mouth and suck it into his own.

It took all the discipline he had not to grab for her as she pressed her hips into his, spurring him from half-hard to utterly turned-on. “Don’t. Even. Think. About. It.”

Too late for that, Steve supposed. But if he was thinking about it, he had enough sense left not to act. And enough focus to look her in the eye and say, “The mission?”

Her lips pressed together in a tight thin line and, without a further word, she pushed off and stalked away. Steve had just enough time to follow before the lead pulled tight around his neck – and while it wouldn’t jerk him off his feet, it wouldn’t be comfortable either.

Still, as he followed after the slim, proud figure, Steve allowed the thought that if he had Maria Hill sprawled beneath him, exquisitely satisfied and utterly replete, he’d look after her _very_ well.

–

The sub whom Maria had ‘swapped’ with the target in exchange for Rogers jerked back as she realised the ‘special suite’ was full of people.

“What—?”

A light tug on the rope silenced her. If this hadn’t been an op – if Maria had truly swapped subs – the tiny blonde would have had a night of penitence ahead of her. As it was, she’d get a solid meal and a thorough questioning, which was probably not quite what the woman had hoped for when she started the night.

Then again, Maria reflected as Agent Sudhani guided the woman away with a firm grip on her shoulder, she might get exactly what she wanted – the chance to test her will against a dom who’d put her through the wringer. Ravi Sudhani – handsome, charming, and very definite – had a reputation from his days at Operations Academy, and had allegedly maintained it since.

Not that Maria knew. She’d never done the sexual scene at Operations – too risky, given her ambition and her proclivities. Oh, she’d felt the tug with several agents and S.H.I.E.L.D associated personnel, but she’d resisted the urge, knowing only too well that who she fucked today might knife her in the back tomorrow.

The taskforce leader came over and gave her leggings – all that was visible under the nice warm wrap Maria had flung around her – a once-over. “Nice getup if you can carry it off,” was her only comment. “Rogers?”

“I give him ten minutes,” Maria said, “Twenty, max.”

The woman snorted. “You don’t think he’d stop in for a quickie, then?”

Maria considered it the better part of discretion not to say that if Rogers was going to do anything sexual tonight, it would be very slow and exquisitely thorough. The tension radiating off him had been palpable even from the far end of the leash – and bone-melting when it was right up against her. For a second or two, there, Maria had fought to draw breath because the scent of him had made her head _spin_.

And she was not going to speculate what – or who – Captain America was going to do to take off the edge – assuming he hadn’t worked it off while subduing the target.

“Assessment of the situation?”

“Cover is held, we weren’t recognised. Unless Rogers has fucked it up, there’s room for us to get the other. It won’t be pretty – we’ll need to work out an alternative scenario and bait accordingly, but otherwise...I think it went well.” Heads turned as there was a knock on the door. “And that’ll be our man.”

Rogers strode into the room, unmasked, bare-chested with the target unconscious and flung over his shoulder. “Got him.”

“Did he resist?” Maria kept her eyes assiduously above his neck and off the sweat-slicked skin.

“He tried.” Rogers looked for direction. “Where does he go?”

Considering the other three agents in the room – all women – had swallowed their tongues, Maria figured it was up to her to give direction. “This way,” she said, leading the way to the room they’d set up as a holding space.

Not that it needed much setting up – it was basically a pleasure-dungeon.

“Did they get a special on red velvet?” was Rogers’ only comment as she yanked open the door of the sound-proofed room.

His burden went on the bed in the middle of the room - on a coverlet of matching red velvet – and was laid out spreadeagled with his hands and ankles firmly fastened in the manacles at each corner of the bed. It was just a temporary holding – at least for the next hour or so while they got transport out. Within two hours, the cleaning crew would come through, and thirty-minutes after that, the next clients would make their way in with no clue that anything beyond the club’s usual entertainments had gone on here.

Maria’s job, however, was done – and she checked in with Fury while Rogers went to another room to put a shirt on so the taskforce could keep their heads around him. “He’s in.”

“All good?”

“Out like a light, thanks to a bit of handling by Rogers. But they’re transferring him, ready to sing when he wakes. And we’ll be clean and clear in an hour.”

“Clear, maybe,” Fury allowed. “But clean? In that place?”

“They’ve upgraded in the last ten years, sir.”

“If you say. Good work, Hill. And Rogers, too.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Maria waited for the transfer team to move the target; checked up on the club feeds, and tried not to feel inadequately dressed as Rogers emerged from the restroom clothed in civilian gear and holding a motorcycle helmet.

“How’s it looking?”

“We’re all done here,” she told him, meeting his gaze. “Good work and thank you.”

“Always a pleasure, Commander.”

He said it straight, without the innuendo that another man might have given, but Maria’s insides curled nevertheless as he took the fire stairs out of the suite.

The silence behind her made her turn to find the taskforce staring studiously at their screens. And was extremely grateful that she'd picked personnel who weren't motormouths for this section of the operation, too. She met the operations leader’s gaze without flinching.

“How long until pickup?”

“ETA ten minutes. But you needn’t stay for it, commander.” The tone was courteous, but Maria heard the underlying message – _my job now_ – and gave way. She wouldn’t have wanted Fury hovering over one of her ops, either.

Out in the parking lot, she sat back with a sigh and started programming the navigator to find her apartment – or, more correctly, _Natasha’s_ apartment which she allowed Maria to stay in when in town. Then groaned as her phone beeped with the signal for a text message.

So tempting to ignore the message entirely – at this hour, it’d be something that meant no sleep and no quiet. But if it was a crisis, it had to be dealt with. Maria pulled the phone out with a sigh. Then stared as the name _Steve Rogers_ displayed in the notification box.

_I need a rec._

Okay, not what she’d expected. She stared at the message for a good long minute before replying: _What for?_

His response was immediate. _Someone to look after. Know anyone?_

On screen it looked like a bland enquiry. To the woman who’d spent a few exhilarating seconds pressing that hard, muscular body into the wall while he fought back using words, his arousal, and hers, it was a dangerous opening.

Her finger paused over the ‘write message’ box. So tempting to say ‘no’. So tempting to say ‘yes’. And did she even want to go there? With Steve Rogers, no less?

She’d picked him because he didn’t gossip – the same reason she’d listed specific people to go the taskforce. And if she couldn’t trust Captain America, then who was left?

Maria didn’t allow herself to think, just typed in the address. Then she put her phone away, checked the navigator, and started the drive back to the apartment.

–

It had seemed easy when he’d sent her the text. But standing outside the apartment door, Steve was having second thoughts.

Then he thought of the quiver that had shot through her as he pushed back, remembered the sudden, ferocious hunger that had swept through him with her mouth so close to his in the pulsing, thumping rhythms of the club. And he imagined that little hiccup of breath stretched out into a gasp and another and another...

He pressed the apartment bell.

A few seconds later, the door opened.

Hill hadn’t taken off her makeup, hadn’t undressed, hadn’t anything. And she didn’t move out of the doorway.

“You came.”

“Am I welcome?”

Her hands clenched by her sides, but the tension in her body was all wrong for throwing a punch. So Steve waited.

Her lips pressed together for a long moment before she reached up and hooked her fingers into his jacket. One fierce yank pulled him down, and Steve was vaguely aware of the door shutting behind him as her mouth claimed his, of the shadows and lights in the room beyond as their bodies met, of cool plaster under his elbows and forearms as he pinned her to the wall – but everything else was _her_.

Her body pressed between him and the wall, her mouth demanding his kisses, her hands pulling his hips against her in explicit hunger and fierce desire. And Steve let himself soak into the taste of her mouth, the feel of her waist under his hands, the sound of her frustration when she couldn’t get her hands up under his motorcycle jacket.

Steve backed off, just a little – then went back in when she growled. This time he let his teeth scrape the scarlet lip, a light nip of a promise. “I want skin,” he murmured. “And a bed.”

“You’re in no position to make demands,” she pointed out, her voice low and breathless but no less ruthless when aroused than when angry. “You’re still wearing my collar.”

“This?” He hooked a finger in the leather band that he’d forgotten to take off – until he’d zipped up his jacket and realised why it was so tight at his throat. And had texted Hill ten seconds later, before he had time to rethink what he was doing, let alone why. He met her eyes in the soft downlights of the apartment entryway, a dark and sensuous sea in which a man could easily drown. “I was thinking this would look good on you.”

She stilled, her gaze blank and measuring, and Steve returned her gaze without saying anything, knowing he was right, waiting for her to admit her preference. She could dominate, could demand, would domme when she chose – when it was needed. But something in her also wanted to let go – wanted to be able to give way with someone who wouldn’t kiss and tell.

And Steve would kiss her until she had no breath to speak, but he’d never tell.

He watched her measure all this up in her head, watched her come to a decision, watched her swallow.

Her eyes met his. “Okay.”

He unzipped his jacket and she pushed it off his shoulders while he undid the collar – a strap of braided leather with a buckle at one end and a tang that slipped in between the strands of the braid so it required no holes. There had been just enough length to go around his neck, with an inch to spare; there was more than enough to go around Hill’s throat.

The metal of the buckle was still warm from his skin when he slipped it around her throat, and pulled the end of the strap through the rectangular frame until it held firm, then looked her in the eye to gauge her reaction. She looked back at him, wary but not afraid, so he checked the fit of it with his finger, and slipped the tang into the leather braid, then threaded the long, thin ‘tail’ of the collar into the braid and brushed it out amidst the wisps of hair at her nape.

He didn’t comment on the unsteady pulse he felt throbbing in her neck, or the way her breathing had shortened as he pulled the collar tight. 

Instead, Steve stepped back and allowed himself to look at Commander Hill – _Maria_ – collared and clothed and defiant. And wanted at least one of those things changed.

“Take off your clothes.”

Her head tilted. “Is that an order?”

“Think of it as a suggestion, strongly worded.”

“What happened to wanting a bed?”

“The bed can wait,” Steve said, leaning back against the other wall of the entryway and folding his arms. “I want skin now.”

Heat rose in her throat and cheeks as she undressed – first her boots and socks, then the top, then the long lacing of her trousers, loosened and kicked away. And then the thin scrap of her panties peeled off, until all she wore was the collar and the blush.

Then she looked him in the eye and lifted her chin. “What you were hoping for, Rogers?”

“My name is Steve,” he said, closing the gap between them and liking the way she caught her breath. “And yes, Maria,” he told her as he slid his hand to cup her breast and brushed his mouth over hers, “This is _exactly_ what I wanted.”

Then he kissed her, hard and demanding and hungry. And she bit back at him, very much not passive, even wearing the collar. Naked and vulnerable, the unrestrained ferocity in her was still a force to be reckoned with, and to Steve's mind, that made her all the more attractive. He leaned into her strength, into her heat, gave back passion and ardour, returned it all to her with his hands and body, cupping, cradling, coaxing her into panting, aching _need_ and _want_ and _have_.

And when Maria moaned into his throat as his finger slid delicately back and forth across the sensitive nub of her clit, Steve felt something in him yank loose. He pinned her to the door with his free hand, swallowed her gasps of surprise in his mouth – once, twice, three times – then dragged his mouth free and got down on his knees.

How long had it been?

He slid his tongue into the musky nest of curls, listened to her choked and surprised yelp, and thought, _Too long_.

Her hands slid into his hair, curving over his head, pressing him deeper. Her hips tilted into his mouth as he ate her out. Her moans grew throatier as thrust his tongue into her cleft over and over until she sagged against the door. Steve caught her as she collapsed, and let himself revel in the way her arms fell loosely about his neck, in the harsh pant of her breath against his cheek, in the scent of her sex – in his nostrils and on his tongue.

Beautiful, ferocious, and very well-pleased, indeed.


End file.
